


A Half-Brother Wolf Cub

by LadyOfDragonstone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Jon Snow is seven years old, Jon is the best big brother, Jon wants to be a Stark, Ned has a lot of feelings, Old Nan is my fucking life, One Shot, This is an innocent, This takes place seven years before the events of Game of Thrones, a lot of feelings, but it doesn't really apply here, they're all children, wholesome fic, with some sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfDragonstone/pseuds/LadyOfDragonstone
Summary: The day Bran is born from Jon’s Point of View; Arya needs her big brother; The Starks are nervous about the new baby. Following ASOIAF and GOT canon.





	A Half-Brother Wolf Cub

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in tumblr as @Violet-eyes-silver-hair

Every time it happened, Winterfell lapsed into a clamor of buzz and celebrations that often excluded him. Jon Snow had grown used to it, waiting dutifully for his father, with only a dim notion of what being a bastard meant. He sat on a chair in front of the fireplace in his father’s study, Theon Greyjoy at his side, as the event took place on the other side of the caste. Though it hardly concerned him, Jon was nervous all the same.

“What good is there in another squabbling child?” Theon asked, annoyed. 

He shrugged, “Winterfell grows stronger with more heirs.” Or so his father had told him. 

“The last one was a girl. What good are girls for?” he insisted. 

Jon scowled, but said nothing. Theon was the heir of Pyke, and an older boy of twelve; it was not the bastard’s place to tell him how bloody wrong he was. Little Arya had only had two namedays, yet she was more fond of Jon than any of her other two trueborn siblings. Lady Catelyn was been wroth at that, insisting that Robb and Sansa play more with the girl than him, but she only wailed with surprisingly powerful lungs until her bastard brother joined their games as well. Jon was grateful, thinking that if it hadn’t been for Arya, perhaps he would have stopped playing with Robb and Sansa altogether. Not that Sansa particularly cared enough to play with him, but he didn’t mind. 

The sound of the door clicking open made his heart thump, but it was only Old Nan with Hodor at her heels. The wet nurse was so small and frail, that Arya seemed older than her age as she stood taller than the old woman’s knees. She ran to Jon first, skirts swirling around her and tears streaming down her eyes. She clawed at his legs with more strength that he would have thought possible, and sobbed onto his lap. His half sister didn’t cry often, but every time she did, Theon rolled his eyes. 

Jon placed at soothing hand on her hair as wailed, and looked back to Old Nan for an explanation. His heart started thumping wildly, thinking of all that could go wrong. 

The old woman smiled a toothlessly and said fondly “Arya was too scared without her big brother.” 

Jon was no more than seven, but he was strong enough to scoop up the sobbing girl onto his lap. “What’s happened, little sister?”

“Mother,” she whimpered into his shoulder, already calming down with his embrace. 

Theon and Jon looked expectantly at the pair at the door. Hodor flashed an oafish smile, “Hodor.” 

“Yes,” Old Nan agreed, “The Lady Stark’s labor is scaring the girl. Hush, now, child, after this is done, you’ll soon have another brother.” 

Theon smirked at the stableboy, “Soon you’ll be getting a woman big with child yourself, right Hodor?”

“Hodor,” he chipped cheerfully. 

Old Nan narrowed her eyes, “The Little Lord should leave him be. Hodor is only a stableboy.”

The older boy sighed dramatically, and turned his smirk to Jon, “Are you a wet nurse yourself, Snow?” 

“Shut up,” he snapped, earning another smirk from the boy. He turned his attention back to Old Nan, “Shouldn’t you be with Lady Stark?”

“Oh no, my dear.” She shook her head. “I’m too blind and frail to be a midwife, I’m afraid. But do not worry for Lady Catelyn, she should be well enough with Maester Luwin and with the better, younger midwives.”

Jon was not worried for Lady Catelyn, but he did not tell her that. He gazed down at Arya’s face, so alike his own, and smiled, “What do you think it’ll be, a boy or a girl?”

Arya was too distracted fondling at the furs on his shoulder his chubby, clumsy hands, but Theon answered, “Best hope its a boy, Snow, or you’ll keep growing as soft as a maid.” 

“Shut up,” he repeated hotly, when another knock came on the door. Hodor opened it, and moved aside clumsily as Ned Stark came through the door. His face was blank, and Jon’s stomach dropped. He stood up, placing Arya on the floor with care.

“The baby?” he started to say.

“A boy,” Lord Stark said, finally grinning.

“Good news.” Theon has stood up as well, shifting into composture.

Lord Stark nodded, picked up his daughter on his own arms, and motioned for them to follow. Jon’s heart was thrumming uncomfortably, so he build up the courage to ask the question.

“Where is Lady Stark?” he asked under his breath, loud enough for his father to hear. 

“Don’t worry, she’s just recovering. You’ll have a good while to see the babe before she wakes up,” he said, alleviating his concerns. 

Jon nodded solemnly, and went into the chamber. Sansa’s head whipped up, pressing a dainty, pale fingers to her lips to tell them to be silent. Despite his previous complaints, Theon crept slowly into the room as well, settling on Robb’s side to look down onto the oaken crib. 

Arya’s interest piqued, “I want to see!” 

Jon lowered his voice, “Alright, but we’ll have to be very quiet.” 

After she nodded, Lord Stark moved closer to the crib, eyeing Jon carefully. He looked down at the bundle of furs and found a pink face sleeping soundly. He let out a ragged breath he didn’t know he was holding, and placed his hands on the edge of the crib. 

Robb smiled, speaking quietly, “He is to be named Brandon Stark.”

The surname stung Jon, having lived seven years longer in Winterfell than the new babe, but he dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “Like Brandon the Builder.”

“Aye,” Lord Stark agreed, “And like mine own brother.”

“Father,” Sansa said, tugging at his cloak, “Can I carry the babe?” 

“You’re much too small, sweetling” he said, then looked up to his eldest trueborn son, “Robb, would you like to hold him?”

The boy looked startled, “I, uh, don’t think I would, father.”

Lord Stark nodded understandably. Jon had a fleeting surge of courage, and he didn’t know where the boldness came from.

“May I hold him, father?” 

Lord Eddard gaped at him. Sansa and Robb shifted uncomfortably, and even Theon looked surprised. Jon regretted the words as soon as they escaped him, but finally, to Jon’s amazement, his father put down Arya, and picked up his youngest son. Ned told Jon to sit at the nursery’s chair, and he did, carefully, as if the seat would crumble under his weight. His hands felt clammy, and his siblings stood around him as their father placed Brandon on Jon’s careful, waiting arms. He raised a gentle finger to brush the soft hairs at the top of his head. 

“He has the Tully look!” Sansa breathed out, excitedly. She grinned at Robb, and then at Jon, “See? Red hair!” 

“Aye,” Jon agreed, “But Bran is a Stark of Winterfell.” 

“Bran,” Robb considered out loud, grinning, “It’s a good name.” 

Arya gazed curiously at her new brother, and giggled. 

“Bran,” she said, surprising them all. They all chuckled, and exchanged mirthful looks. Theon placed an approving hand on Jon’s shoulder and nodded to Lord Stark, “Congratulations, My Lord.”

Jon hardly heard them at all. The babe shifted slightly in his sleep, making him nervous and delighted in equal parts. He lifted his index finger, and touched Bran’s hand tentatively until the tiny fist curled itself around it. Soon enough, Bran will grow to know of Jon as a bastard, but for that moment, he was as much a Stark as the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> ITS FUNNY BECAUSE BRAN IS THE ONE TO FIND OUT JON IS A TARGARYEN HEIR AYEEEEEEE
> 
> Comment if you had feelings about this lol


End file.
